


Loving and Wanting You and Me Twice Over

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Multi, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor finds himself and Rose in his bed. Then he finds himself and Rose and himself in his bed. Lines are drawn, and crossed, and drawn again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving and Wanting You and Me Twice Over

There’s an intruder in my bed, and it’s not Rose. It’s myself.

His hands touch her, tracing paths that seem like mirrors to the ones my own fingers are mapping. I find myself watching the progression of his hands instead of gazing at her, as I’m almost certain I’d prefer to be doing.

There’s only so much watching I can take, though.

Eventually the jealousy boils over, and I go to slap his hand away from her hip. Apparently anticipating me, he catches my hand mid-motion, and interlaces our fingers the same way Rose often likes to do. I find my hand, entwined with his, caressing the curve of Rose’s hip in a slow, swooping movement.

I’d call it tentative if I was a casual observer, based on the lightness of the pressure against her skin. As a participant, however, I can feel the practised method of his hand guiding mine across her skin, light enough to feel the raising of each tiny hair against my fingers. It’s not hesitant at all, but intentionally feathery. He wants her to feel how the slightest of touches can affect her. So do I, now that he’s put that thought into my head.

Rose shivers lightly, and I can tell that she’s enjoying it. She wants it harder, probably, and _more_ , but she’s enjoying what we’re doing enough that the torture of not increasing it would be sweet, rather than unbearable. The expression on her face is close to blissful, and I’ll do anything not to have to wipe it away.

The only way to stop him from touching her now is to stop myself, I realise.

I can’t. I don’t want to.

I want to touch her forever in that spot where thigh meets abdomen, that dimple inside her hip. At least, I’d like to touch her there right up until the need to touch her elsewhere becomes too overwhelming. Really, as long as my hand doesn’t lose contact with her, I’m satisfied no matter where it strays.

He seems to know my thoughts almost better than I do, for our hands stray inwards, and further still, until my fingertips are touching the spot where the small thatch of hair she hasn’t removed meets unbelievable smoothness. If we inched just a little lower, his fingers and mine would both find that little knot of nerves where she clearly is dying to be stroked.

Her breath comes quicker in anticipation of that moment.

I can’t bring myself to instigate the shift downwards, not when it would mean guiding him to touch her there as well. I don’t want his hands on her like that. Not now.

I want to kick that other man out, then. I know it’s perhaps overly possessive, all things considered, but I can’t help it. This should be for me only, and I don’t care at that moment that he _is_ me. I just don’t want to share.

She seems content to have him here, though, and I’m not quite sure what to think about that. He’s me, in most of the ways that matter. It’s a compliment that she wants me twice over, I suppose. But I want it to be just me and her. I don’t want myself there in that way. Well, not really. I’m a little vainer in this body than I’m used to being, but narcissism on that scale is surely still a little beyond me.

Or is it? It’s hard to tell for sure when he’s looking at me with an odd fire in his eyes from where he’s kneeling behind Rose. If he’s me, then aren’t I capable of feeling that way as well? It’s clear that he wants me, even if it isn’t all that clear why.

Again, he seems to know me too well. He must read the question in my eyes, or perhaps our joined hands are almost as good as fingers pressing against temples when the connection is between two versions of myself. I don’t know which it is. It doesn’t matter. The end result is the same; he can tell I’m wondering about it.

He’s more than willing to satisfy my curiosity.

“I’ve picked up bits of Donna,” he explains. His other hand leaves Rose – how he can stand for it to do that, I don’t know – and finds my cheek for the moment.

“Donna didn’t like me like that,” I deny.

I look at Rose, my eyes begging her to believe the truth of that. I haven’t been unfaithful. Not with Martha, who wanted me to be. Not with Donna, who didn’t particularly. Not with any of the others, either, one-off kisses aside. I would consider it to be cheating, even though we hadn’t been really together prior to our enforced parting, and even though I’d thought we’d never be reunited. After that heart-breaking way she’d confessed her love on that beach, and the way I hadn’t ever been able to, how could I not hold onto her?

“Donna likes men, though,” that other version of me replies with a salacious grin. It’s just not right that a man should look at himself like that. It makes me uncomfortable, though I’m not certain anymore that it’s in an entirely bad way.

He presses himself up more tightly against Rose’s back for a moment before taking her chin in his free hand and turning her face towards him. It’s peculiar to watch myself kiss her, knowing that it’s not really myself at all. It’s a little like watching a recording, but not quite. I wouldn’t be jealous of a recording. I’d have the memory of her mouth on mine during the exact kiss I was observing if it was just a recording. So this is so much different. It’s something I’m not part of. I want to be.

When their lips part with a wet noise, he pushes her gently out of the way. She doesn’t resist, even though our grips fall away from her and she’s left as nothing more than an observer. For the moment. I fully intend to remedy that oversight as quickly as possible, personally.

The other Doctor, with Rose’s body out of the way, closes in on me.

I don’t want him closer. Except, perhaps I do.

He looks at me like a man dying of thirst might look at the purest glass of water in existence. I didn’t even realise I had that look in my arsenal. It’s something to remember, certainly. For the moment, however, it isn’t fair for him to look at me like that. It does things to me. Unwanted things.

Stop that, I think towards him, even as my traitorous hands are pulling him closer by the lapels. My lips meet his – mine – whatever, it doesn’t matter. I’m kissing, that’s the point, and Rose’s delighted giggles are spurring me on. I chase the fading taste of Rose inside his mouth. Tongues battle, but there can’t ever really be a winner when I’m fighting myself. I pull away with a gasp as a hand finds my erection through my trousers, which are straining under the pressure of containing me.

At first I think the hand belongs to him, but I’m pleased (or maybe slightly disappointed) to find that it’s Rose, having decided that participation beats mere voyeurism any day.

“Rose,” I beg. “I can’t ... _Rose_.”

I enjoy being with him, or myself, or whoever that man is, more than I’d care to admit out loud. Really, though, what I need right now is her. Just her. It’s our first time together, and I need that to be just about us, no matter what that other man wants or thinks or feels. He might be me, but he’s also not. I can’t take him into consideration just now. He’ll have to settle for second-best, at least this once. I’ll go mad if I can’t have her just for myself.

Rose seems to understand from the pleading of my tone, for she gives him a look and says, “Next time.” It sounds like a promise. I’m not certain whether she’s promising her next time will be with him, or that _our_ next time will be with him. All that matters for the moment is that he’s leaving the room, looking hesitant to go but disappearing out the door without a fight nonetheless. He even closes the door after him, and that’s good. I don’t want him watching. Not this time, at least.

The rest of it can be dealt with later, when my erection isn’t slowly attempting to burrow a hole through the front of my trousers.

Rose is quick to solve that problem by undoing the button and sliding the zipper down carefully. I can’t remember making the decision not to wear underwear that morning, but I can’t help but be glad for it. The less clothing the better, at this stage. I sigh with the relief of freedom as all the fastenings of my trousers fall away. Not even the slight bite of the zipper is enough to taint that moment. That harsh grasp of metal over sensitive skin is gone before it ever gets a chance to become unbearable. Rose pulls my trousers down as soon as I raise my hips slightly to allow it. She laughs as they’re caught on my trainers. I can practically hear what she’s thinking. Even lying in my own bed, I don’t take off my shoes.

My outfit is my armour, and only she’s allowed to get under it. This is the first time I’ve allowed her to do so. Of course I’m still wearing my shoes. I hold onto the barrier they provide until she divests me of first one, and then the other.

I’m trouserless and without my shoes. I might as well be completely naked already.

It’s only fair, I suppose, since Rose has been wearing nothing more than her bra since the moment we literally fell into bed together, long before my double entered the room. I wonder what it feels like to be naked that way while two fully-clothed men gang up and take advantage of you. It mustn’t be too terrible. Rose was hardly complaining, after all.

She has, however, apparently had more than enough of the inequality by now. She doesn’t patiently undo each little fiddly button of my shirt, but rather takes each side of the material in one of her hands and rips.

My first thought is to be impressed by her strength, but then I remember that I always knew exactly how formidable Rose Tyler was. My second thought, less relevantly, is to be glad that I have six other versions of this exact shirt in the Wardrobe Room. I might be running short on clothing if Rose makes wrecking my shirts into a habit.

Not that I’ll be complaining, if that’s the case.

She pushes the tatters of the shirt off my shoulders and I assist by shrugging it off my arms. Then there’s nothing between us but her bra. Her hands, much steadier than mine would be trying to perform the same action, make quick work of the clasp. The contortion of reaching behind herself to undo the bra thrusts her chest invitingly forward. As she lets the bra fall down her arms and away, I lean down and my mouth fastens over a nipple.

Her gasp is high-pitched and tastes just as salty sweet in the air as her skin does on my tongue.

Somehow her hand finds my cock again, this time unimpeded by any covering material. As she strokes me with sure motions, my mouth falls involuntarily away from her.

I’m a Time Lord. I have a complex and brilliant brain. I can potentially multi-task better than any other being in the universe. And yet, when her hand is on me like that, and her fingers swirl just so over the tip of me, I find I can’t concentrate on anything else.

It’s been far too long since I’ve done any of this, so my first instinct is to let her guide me. However, I know Rose. I know that she’ll be looking to please me more so than herself, because she’s just that sort of giving person. That’s not what I want. I wanted the other me sent away for a reason, and that reason is that I want this first time to be about _her_. Not me, and certainly not _us_ , with the other version of me present as well.

I have no choice, then, but to take the lead.

It’s not as difficult as I expected, once the thought occurs to me that it doesn’t have to be my fingers or my erection that work to bring her pleasure.

In the years since my most recent regeneration, I’ve learned a lot of things about myself. One of those is that I have a very versatile mouth.

She sees where this is going as soon as I kiss her inner thighs, parting them gently. She begs me to do just what I’m planning on doing anyway. That bolsters my confidence further. I know what she wants before she asks for it, at least when it comes to this. That’s certainly worth something.

My tongue strokes over the length of her slit first. I get the feeling she’d like me to apply it more directly to the small knob I can see swelling with her excitement in the moment that I pull back a bit. Too bad, I think. Now that I’ve made the decision of what to do with her, I’m running this show. There’s been a little bit too much loss of control for me so far tonight. It’s about time I wrestled a little back.

When I dip back in to meet her again, my tongue delves in deeper as my mouth works her, and she gasps out her appreciation without proper words. I’m glad to hear how uncontrolled she sounds. I’ve heard women forming ridiculously complete sentences during this sort of act on occasion, and I can never help but think that they must be faking. Not Rose. She’s a woman who knows well enough what she wants. If I wasn’t giving it to her, I’m certain she’d help me along.

She has no need to, because apparently she’s already close. It’s been a long time for her, after all. At least, I think (hope) it has. Not anywhere near as long as for me, but still.

When my mouth moves higher and closes around her little nub, I suck gently at first, slowly building up the pressure. When I add a few quick licks of my tongue, she arches uncontrollably against me. My teeth scrape her slightly by accident, then, but she makes it clear that she doesn’t mind just a little of that.

It doesn’t take me long to wrench out of her an incoherent sound, which sounds almost exactly like frustration but clearly signals just the opposite.

She collapses back completely against the mattress, her arched back relaxing and her limbs going limp.

“You ...” she begins, but can’t quite complete the thought for the panting irregularity of her breathing. That’s the best compliment I can imagine, really.

“You’re ridiculously good at that,” she finishes after she’s had a moment to gather herself. I was wrong. That’s a better compliment after all.

I give her some time to recover, despite the fact that I’m still hard enough that I don’t doubt I can make a permanent indentation in the mattress if I choose. This isn’t about me, I remind myself. Taking care of that in the most pleasurable way possible is just a happy coincidence of taking care of her as she deserves, this first time. There’ll be times in the future when I might be the centre of attention, I hope. That’s best left for later, though.

I run my hands almost lazily over her, avoiding any areas that might be overly sensitive now. I don’t want her to come down completely. Rather, I want to allow her to level out just enough that she can be worked back up to that peak rather than hanging continually off it.

It doesn’t take too long for her breathing to calm quite a bit, and I take that as my queue.

Even though I already probably sufficiently prepared her with my tongue, I doubt judicious use of my fingers could really go amiss. She seems to enjoy it, though admittedly not as much as she loved my mouth.

Actually, the whole second act, from the thrust of my fingers inside her, to the replacement of those digits with my erection and onwards, seems to not quite affect her to the same extent as the first go-round. Perhaps that’s just because she’s already come once. Perhaps it’s because I really am much better with my mouth.

Whatever the case, she still enjoys it anyway, and she still climaxes a second time, though not quite as violently.

As for me ... The clenching tightness of her wrapped around me makes it difficult to hold on from the get-go, and every moment after that just sky-rockets the feeling. I know a lot of it is purely because it’s been such a very long time since I last did this, but I don’t care. A lot of it is also that it’s Rose here with me, and that makes it as close to perfection as a man like me is ever going to part of.

The awkward moments, the occasional second or two of pain when the angle goes wrong, and the memories of another man touching her; these are things I can ignore in favour of the fact that I’m finally having sex with Rose Tyler, after what might as well have been years of foreplay, and it does anything but disappoint.

I come inside her, grunting into her neck, and think only afterwards – too late, obviously – about the fact that I really probably should have asked her about contraception.

Time Lord and human or not, stranger things have happened in biology than two humanoids of different species intermingling and having children. I’ve seen a lot of those stranger things, travelling through all of time and space. Part-Time Lords are tame in comparison. In fact, we have one of those right here on the ship with us, though there will certainly never be another quite like him.

I think back to what Rose said earlier to the man in question, about ‘next time’.

I’ve had her with me fully now, and I think that I would keep her just to myself forever if that were truly feasible. However, if I have to share her with anyone, perhaps the only option I could ever stand would be sharing her with myself.

I don’t really sleep much, as a rule, but she’s already beginning to doze, and I don’t want to leave her. I let my eyelids fall closed on the thought that perhaps it might not be so bad, having the three of us together on the TARDIS.

It's certainly going to be interesting, at the very least.

~FIN~


End file.
